Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (73 page)

Her soft-soled shoes were soundless on the marble floor and
she moved through the slightly unnatural silence at a good clip even as she dug
through her purse for the directions she’d taken from Steve. She still hadn’t
found a stairwell sign and was beginning to wonder if there even was a lower
floor. Why not call him? If he was in the building they could hook up faster.
She pulled the phone from beneath all the paraphernalia in her overstuffed
tote, clutched Steve's directions in her other hand and dialed his number.

No Signal. Damn!

She glanced at her watch. After five already. Where was he?
Overhead lights were dimming, replaced by the red glow of corner night lights.
Nearby, hidden equipment hissed and rumbled. When she heard steps, her heart
clutched. Silly of her. An employee was approaching. Or maybe Steve. But she
still had to force herself to walk toward the footsteps, not run the other way.

At the sight of him, her smile spread so wide it hurt. “I
was afraid I’d missed you.”

“I’ve been hunting the museum for you. What made you so
late?”

“Traffic.”

“Hmmm,” he said disinterestedly. “It happens, I guess. Did
you bring the skull? Melanie is waiting.” He looked tense, not a quality she'd
seen in him before.

Ivy opened the tote and pulled out the skull, which she’d
carefully wrapped with one of her best Turkish towels.

“Your laundry?” A dose of the teasing Steve. That was more
like it.

“No, it’s part of my favorite towel set. I want it back.”
She grinned as she unwrapped the skull. “As soon as this is straightened out,
we’ll resume construction? Right?”

“Right.” But his answer was...curt, actually. Taking the
skull, he moved into a small display alcove and set it next to a huge pottery
urn. He stepped back a few inches, pulled wire-rimmed glasses from a pocket and
inspected the head. “Impressive. In perfect condition. Even the means of death
is still visible.” He ran a finger across the jagged edges of the eye socket.
“If it is an antiquity, it’s an amazing find.”

“A find? No, we want it to be a murder victim. Well, no, I
don’t mean want, just that... Steve, I can’t have my property tied up for
months.”

“Years, even,” he added unencouragingly. “Let me take a
closer look.” He whipped out a handful of cotton swabs and some glassy
rectangles she presumed were specimen slides, then smudged some dirt onto the
glass. Next, he scraped the inside of the skull with a tiny metal scoop. The
scratchy noise sent unpleasant shivers up Ivy’s spine.

“Should you be doing that? ”

Steve looked up and didn’t say anything. His cold gaze
implied he wasn’t used to being questioned.

Ivy backpedaled. “I mean, isn’t this better left to
experts?”

He labeled the finished slides before answering. “Melanie
asked me to take samples.”

Didn't this man work construction? Ivy cast a sideways
glance and noticed he wasn't dressed much like a construction worker, either.
His casual shirt looked expensively detailed and his denims fit his impressive
buns like they'd been custom-tailored. The dark hair that tumbled so fetchingly
over his forehead whenever he took off his hard hat was now gelled into a
sculpted style. “What?” she asked. “Are you like some kind of mild-mannered
Clark Kent in reverse?”

He laughed, a sound as pleasing to the ears as his grin was
to the eyes.

“Archeology is my avocation. It’s nice to run into someone
who shares the passion.”

“Which wouldn’t be me,” Ivy said. “My passion is getting my
house built.”

“I got that and my guess is you’re going to get it
fulfilled. This bone is too intact to be an antiquity.” His smile gone, he
looked dead serious as he put the tools and slides into a leather case that he
slipped into a back pocket. “I need to run the samples to a lab.”

“Now? This late?” Ivy struggled to keep panic from her
voice. “And you’re leaving me here? Alone? The museum is empty.”

“You'll be fine. ” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder
and pointed down the corridor to a sign that said ‘exit,’ not ‘stairs.’
“Melanie's two flights down. Her office is the third door to your right.” He
rewrapped the skull and left it on the shelf. “Gotta go, babe. I’m sorry.”

Ivy frowned so deep her eyebrows collided. “Two...? Two
flights? I thought you said one flight.”

He was already gone, headed on a path directly opposite the
one he’d told her to take. When he disappeared behind an exit door, Ivy settled
the skull back inside the tote. Eyes darting nervously around, she trudged
toward the exit sign, alone, and none too happy about it. Something was very
off here. Steve’s preoccupied, impatient manner. The contradiction in floors.
His vague relationship with Melanie. What were they to each other? Colleagues?
Friends? Lovers?

She rattled her head to shake off the fuzzy thinking. She
always did have an overactive imagination. And this was no place to indulge her
fears. It was so quiet. The kind of stillness that in movies always preceded
something jumping from the bushes. Her gaze caught on a small fox like creature
lurking beneath a plume of wide-blade grass. Had it moved?

Yes, it had moved.

Of course it hadn't.

The air conditioner clicked off and she jumped. Clutching
the tote to her chest like a shield, she put another leaden foot in front of
her. She’d been moving slower than a snail toward the stairs, but now she’d
reached them. She opened the door, entering an enclosed stairwell and passing
the first exit door, taking Steve at his word that Melanie’s office was two
flights down.

The stairs terminated on the second sub-level, at a spot
creepier than anything she'd seen so far. Most likely the exhibits were
prepared here, but she'd expected more of a laboratory setting—finished floors,
painted hallways and lots of fluorescent lighting overhead. This place was a
cluttered mess of broken plaster, huge blocks of chipped Styrofoam and scraps
of broken two-by-fours. Folded cardboard boxes leaned against the dirty walls and
the hallway leading out of the area glowed weakly under a dim light bulb.

A soft thud sent Ivy jumping back.

“Miss Powell?” she squeaked, hope twitching inside her
constricted heart.

But nothing was there. One of the cartons slipped, probably.
No reason for her to stop walking. The hallway was straight ahead. Melanie's
office.

Third door to the right.

Steve said.

She was two or three steps from the bottom when the lights
went out. Her scream gurgled in the air. She froze, engulfed in pitch blackness
and totally blind. Urging her semi-petrified neck to move, she looked first
left, then right, but it was like someone had poured ink into her eyes. Black
as coal. With a silence as dense as the dark.

Touch was her only guiding sense. She had to make herself reach
out. Tentatively, she removed one arm from the tote, patted around until she
found the straps. Using a firm grip, she pulled the straps to her shoulder,
freeing her hands to guide her up and out of the basement.

Were the lights out up there, too? Lord, say it wasn’t so.

Banishing stupid fears that the walls would come alive with
crawly things, she reached out, relaxing when she connected with smooth, solid
wall. Feeling more certain after this micro-success, she slid one foot back
until it touched the stair riser. This gave her the courage to let go of the
wall and turn around. Now facing up, she groped for the handrail. At the feel
of cold metal, a frisson of relief momentarily weakened her legs. She waited
until it passed, then forced herself to lift a foot.

The first step was the hardest, the second came easier.

Could she do this for two flights?

Something scraped. Behind her. From below.

Ivy gripped the handrail with both hands, heaving herself up
to the next step. Then step after step. The scraping grew louder. Closer.
Someone, some thing, was crawling behind her.

Chasing her.

She damn near pole-vaulted up the next steps, making more
noise than her pursuer. She gasped when her trailing foot hit empty air,
paused, steadied herself, braced for another leap.

A hand bumped her ankle, once...twice. Before Ivy could jerk
away, fingers gripped her leg.

“Give me the head.”

The speaker’s voice was raspy, asexual. The hand felt
strong, callused, but too small to completely envelope her ankle. Ivy’s
imagination slammed into overdrive.

A bony hand. Strong. Like a mummy. Or the fleshless remains
of an ancient skeleton.

Her terror skyrocketed. Screams bounced inside her throat,
escaping as whimpers.

Locking her arms around the handrail, she spun and kicked
with her free foot. Her breath came in ragged spurts and she felt suffocated.

“The head,” her attacker intoned. “Give me the goddam head.”

A thumb pressed brutally into the indent at her Achilles
tendon, shooting a searing electric jolt up her leg. She sank to her knees, one
hand still wrapped around the rail. She would not give this monster the skull.
Her life’s savings had gone into that house. Without this evidence, she may
never, ever have a place to live.

The attacker grabbed the tote, jerking Ivy back, but freeing
her leg. Lunging, she rewrapped the rail with both arms. Her elbows screamed as
she stiffened them against the monster’s tugs. Did this person mean to kill
her? Over the skull of a dead person she’d found in her back yard?

Abruptly, she realized it could be true—was about to say,
here, take it if you want it so bad, when that dose of reality hit her hard.
She really might be with a killer and, if she gave over the head, she’d quite
probably end up as dead as the person whose mind once inhabited the skull.
After a lightening-fast paranoia check she chose to heed her instincts.

“Give me the head!” her attacker croaked.

“Hell no,” she shouted. “Let me go!”

She rolled her hips and furiously scissored her legs,
provoking more vicious tugs on the tote. But her kicks hit their mark and
frequent pained grunts proved they were doing damage. Suddenly the pull on the
tote ceased. Thuds, bumps and curses bounced off the walls. The attacker had
fallen down the stairs.

Free. Ivy was free. With one hand on the rail, waving the
other in front of her to assure a clear path, Ivy crab-crawled up the stairs
until she found the exit door.

From below, she heard a mumbled, “Goddam bitch! Where are
you, bitch?”

Sticks and stones. Would break her bones. But words...? She
felt for the doorknob. Fumbled and turned. The door swung out and she fell
through it. Escape. And light, blessed light. Red glowing security lights that
made the exhibits look even more ghostly, but at least she could see. She
sprang to her feet and sprinted as though a real mummy was chasing her.

Where was the way out? Where was a hiding place? And where
was Steve? He said he’d be right back.

Running full speed, she rounded a corner and was out of
sight when the stairwell door banged open. Even at a sprint, the sound from her
shoes was muffled by the clatter of her pursuer’s footsteps. They boomed and
bounced inside the cavernous halls like a tapping cane and she couldn’t tell
where they came from.

The exits. Surely they were alarmed. If she opened one, help
would come, police would be summoned. But were they left, right, straight
ahead? Did this floor even have exits? Lord, she didn't know. All she saw were
the stairs to the floor above, an open stairwell that wouldn’t conceal her
whereabouts, but would at least eliminate the danger of another blackout. After
a mad dash, she virtually leaped up the first half dozen steps before pausing
for breath. The museum was totally silent except for her own rasping breath.

Where was her pursuer?

Shadowy recesses lined the halls. Anyone, anything could
leap out anytime, from anywhere. She couldn’t move. Or stand still. Not while
she was out in the open. Exposed.

She bolted all the way to the next floor and skidded into
Stanley Hall. Sue greeted her, glaring down from a perch on a manufactured mesa
of mountainous rocks. The enormous T-Rex looked angry and hungry, even though
she was just a string of empty ribs and vertebrae, massive hip and leg bones.

Ivy gave Sue’s platform a once-over. The four-foot
protective railing curved out, making it more difficult to climb into the
exhibit than to climb out of it. Below, circling the platform’s base, was a
narrow worker’s walkway, recessed under the dramatic sculptured rock overhang.
Could there be a crawl space beneath the platform where she could wait for
Steve? He would be back, wouldn’t he? To save her? Of course he would.

Unless he was a conspirator in this chase.

A thought she’d been pushing away ever since he’d left the
museum. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She could not let herself believe it. If she
did, panic would overtake her.

She swung over the railing, easing her way down the sloping
wall to the walkway, feeling safer here. The overhang concealed her, the
cobbled concrete allowed her to move noiselessly. She found the lift-up access
grate about halfway around.

Setting down the tote, she knelt beside the grate and pulled
with both hands. It wobbled, but didn’t budge. Shooting a nervous glance over
her shoulder, she let out a frustrated breath and gave the grate a vicious
yank, which landed her on her butt as the panel snapped open.

Returning to her knees, she peered in to assess the space.
Shallow, she’d have to lie down, but big enough to hold her. Would it also be
dark? Still shaky from her experience in the basement, she hesitated.

The footsteps resumed. Slow, this time, deliberate, the
echoes different from before. Ivy pushed through her nervousness and leaned
against the outer wall so she could see if anyone approached. An unexpected
reflection drew her to the polished shoes above. A man's shoes and he stood in
the overhead balcony. He probably couldn't see her, but she didn't plan to find
out.